We went off to the Lexington Human Shelter in February and spent several hours visiting with the kitties. While I was blithely going from cabana to cabana, assessing, and scritching heads, Steve hadn't moved much. He was squatting behind the door and a black and white paw was holding his finger through the bars. He was smitten. We took "Baby" out and brought her to the meet and greet room, where she prowled around, growling at the smells of stress in the room. This made us a little nervous, but when picked up, this squat little cow kitty would purr like her ship had come in. Well, it had, really. We tried a few others in meet and greet and they didn't stand up to the cow kitty's charm and curiosity. We decided the growling was from fear and overstimulation and adopted her. On the way home, we brainstormed names and Steve came up with "Gladys," which nearly caused me to crash the car, I was laughing so hard. Gladys she became! She was so sweet and quiet on the way home: we were loath to leave her for a dinner outing with Steve's colleagues, but thought it was a nice 3-hour block of time she could use to adjust to her new home. This is the video we took when we returned and she came out from under the bed:
You can often find her in our dining room on the "Praise Chair." She favors the chairs in our apartment that have woven bottoms, for traction and warmth, I think. Also, like Mike Sturdevant's cat, she enjoys surveying meal times, not begging, just being part of the proceedings. When we started giving her cat treats, she would get in her chair to receive them. Soon we decided to train her to stand on her hind legs before getting a treat, and that evolved into a kind of "shell game" like those you'd see at a 19th century fair. Mostly, she gets it right these days. Her tail puffs wildly with excitement when this happens.
All told, she's the softest, funniest, smartest cat either one of us have ever had, and her affectionate nature makes her a delight. If only she'd stop raiding our bar.